Inside Maine Roller Derby, everyone has a place — and a roller derby name.
There’s Thugs Bunny. T-Wrecks. Shreddy Bear. Chickadee Wallop.
And Bruise Lee, not to be confused with Bruise Willis, who’s on the mic providing commentary to spectators with Bananica Patrick.
This was the first game, or bout, in a day-long tournament, called Skatecationland. Roller derby teams from Boston and eastern Pennsylvania traveled up for the day.
Tugboat is a referee. He’s been playing and officiating for more than 12 years.
“It’s kind of like a full contact race. On skates. Where people are trying to prevent you from getting through,” he said.
Unlike the banked roller derby popular on TV in the 1960s where the track is pitched, this version is played on a flat oval.
Each 30-minute half is broken up into what are called jams. A jam is a two-minute run when each team tries to score points.
At the center of each jam is the jammer, who wears a cover on their helmet with a big star. To score points, the jammer must pass opponents while skating around the track. Teams earn one point for each opponent passed by their jammer.
The other members of the team are blockers, and they’re trying to prevent the opposing team’s jammer from getting through. Dash, who’s been playing roller derby for 15 years, is one of four blockers on the track for Maine.
“I am an absolute menace,” said Dash, who helped organize the day’s tournament. “I am trying to brutalize the other wall and get my jammer through so she can score points. I’m just in there wrecking havoc at all times, ideally.”
Dash was mic-ed up and took to the track. She and two of her teammates grabbed hold of each others’ arms to form a kind of human wall.
They were trying to stop Boston’s jammer from getting through. Dash left the pack, lowered her shoulder and body slammed the jammer to the ground.
It’s not all about hard hits. Dash said there’s strategy involved, like deciding when to play offense or switch suddenly to defense.
Maine Roller Derby has more than 130 skaters, referees and officials, coaches and other volunteers. They do everything from DJ to lay duct tape on the floor to mark the track.
Most join the league having little to no skating experience, and learn the skills from each other along the way. Tugboat, the ref, said his first time skating in a game wasn’t pretty. But the sport, he said, was unlike any he had ever seen before, and he was drawn in by the game’s inclusivity.
“Roller derby is very friendly to the LGBTQ community, as well as the neuro-divergent community, and those are things that are important to me,” Tugboat said.
“And it’s pretty punk rock,” he added.
Dash said regardless of your role or skill level, the sport offers a respite from whatever’s going on outside the roller rink.
“Right now that’s super important, especially, because a lot of us are in the LGBTQ community. And it’s been hard in this present time that we’re in. To have a place to come and celebrate and to be ourselves, without having to apologize to anyone, and just be sporty, athletic and powerful…. It’s everything I need right now.”
Back on the track, Maine protected its lead over Boston.
Dash and Boston’s Structurally Unsound duked it out in the final seconds.
The whistle blew, and the game was over. Maine beat Boston by a score of 188 to 141.
Dash said the victory felt especially sweet, because Maine lost to Boston earlier this year and it wasn’t close. And it means a lot to the team to welcome others to Maine for Skatecationland, she said.
After all, it’s the way life — or roller derby — should be.
This story appears through a media partnership with Maine Public.
